


Drag Me To Hell

by rancetherapper (alannalaleona)



Category: Big Brother RPF
Genre: Comedy, Horror, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-20 23:16:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3668817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alannalaleona/pseuds/rancetherapper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Zach's going to go down, he'd prefer to do it in flames.<br/>[chapter 5: demonic smut warning]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Drag Queen

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely based on the film of the same name. If you don't want to read about Zach being dragged, you should probably avoid this fic. There will be zankie though. Oh yes, there will be zankie.

It seems like everything he’s ever done, every thing he’s ever said, is coming into question. Just a regular day in the life of Big Brother superstar, Zach Rance. His so-called adoring fans, his adoring Zacharoos, are turning on him purely because he sang a Lil Wayne song without bleeping out the n-word. God forbid. He might be one of those people that glance around for black people before saying it, but it’s not like anyone’s around to shank him for it. Not that he would put it past some of his fans, especially the Zanks. In fact he has almost come to accept it.

It’s just so ridiculous to Zach. He went on Big Brother to win 500k. He was trying to get rich. And now everyone seems to be holding him to impossibly high standards. Standards he didn’t even know existed prior to this. And apparently now he has a “responsibility” to these fans of his. These fans he didn’t even ask for. They just saw him on Big Brother and happened to think he was the man. It’s not his fault. He might have played along with people thinking he was gay, but who wouldn’t do that for 500k?

Zach wishes they could see it from his point of view. Sometimes he wishes he could invent a time machine and go back to the times before Big Brother. The simple times. The good times where he could just chill with his bros and hook up with girls who wouldn’t spread it across the internet like wildfire. Admittedly he had sent some questionable messages to some of his more attractive female fans. But who wouldn’t? Who wouldn’t try to make the most of an impossible situation?

He’s pissed about having to get a new number, his old phone being spammed with hate and gay porn. He’s pissed he has fans. He pissed people care about what he does. He’s always been a grade-a douchebag and he’s not going to change for a bunch of people he doesn’t even know.

That’s why Zach’s so annoyed when he gets YET ANOTHER dm from a “fan” who is offended by his quote unquote “racist” behavior. The girl’s name is Elissa. He’s pretty sure he’s seen her shit talking him for months so he doesn’t know why she’s bothering to contact him now. He thought that he’d unfollowed her months ago so he’s frankly surprised to see the message. He doesn’t even know what makes him open it. He rarely opens messages from fans these days, but there was something about this message that made him open it as soon as he received it.

Zach channels all his pent up rage into the message he sends in return. He types furiously, tongue held tightly between his teeth, almost drawing blood. “You know what?” he types, “I don’t give a fuck about what you or anyone else has to say. I only care about me. And if you don’t like me or what I do, guess what? Shut up and go the fuck away. No one is forcing you to be here. So fucking leave.”

He presses the send button angrily, staring at the screen as he waits for a response. He gets one only a few seconds later. All it says is, “You will regret this Zach Rance. I will drag you to hell.”

Zach stares at the message blankly, feeling a slight chill start to creep it’s way up his spine. He’s been on the internet long enough to become familiar with the jargon. He’s not afraid of being dragged. Hell, his fans have been dragging him to the point of bloodying his knees up all day long.

But something about this message unsettles him. Like Elissa is more serious than the average fan, even though her profile picture is of Kanye West of all people.

“Bring it on,” Zach sends back. He’s sick of this shit. People can fuck off. He doesn’t care if his follower count drops all the way down to zero. If Zach’s going down, he’d prefer to do it in flames.


	2. Bling It On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blood warning for this chapter.

The next day, Zach goes to Logan’s for a party. He invites a girl he met on tinder who gives him a mediocre hand job in Logan’s guest bathroom. Zach would have preferred a blow job to be honest, but overall he’s counting the night as a success. He’s still somewhat tipsy when he climbs into the driver’s seat of his car, but he guesses he’s okay to drive. The world is blurry at the edges but the lines of the street will be easy enough to follow.

He’s just buckled his seatbelt when he feels a sharp object pressing lightly against the flesh of his throat. Zach gulps. Of course the one time he doesn’t check the back seat he’s assaulted by a crazy serial killer. Go figure.

“Don’t. Move,” an icy female voice orders, making Zach’s stomach drop. Zach feels sweat start to bead on his temple.  He holds his breath, praying to a god that he doesn’t believe in that his last sexual experience won’t be a rushed hand job that had admittedly chafed his dick.

He’s not expecting a delicate hand to grab and forcibly pull a button off his light blue polo. A gasp leaves his throat. “What the fuck?” he breathes out.

“Wait here for five minutes. Then drive straight home. Be careful, drunk driving is dangerous,” the unidentified voice tells him. Zach’s face twists in confusion. What kind of fucking hold up is this? It’s not like he’s 2 Chainz. His buttons aren’t made of gold or anything.

He hears the stranger slip out of the car and obediently sits in his seat motionless for the next five minutes. He stares at the digital clock, watching the time tick by. It’s the longest five minutes of his life.

When Zach drives home he does it even more carefully than usual. He tries not to read too much into the whole “stranger-stealing-his-button” thing. There are a lot of weirdos in this world, Zach has learned. They probably just had a weird fetish with his polos or something and wanted a memento. Yeah, that has to be it.

Zach tiptoes through the front door, wary of waking up his family. The last thing he needs right now is a lecture from his mother about driving while intoxicated. He’s hardly drunk at all anymore. That encounter had definitely served the purpose of sobering him up.

He decides that he’s not going to tell anyone about this. People would probably just call him crazy or laugh at the fact that he was held at knife point by who seemed to be a mentally unstable young woman. There’s no reason to stress over it, he reasons. But he finds himself thinking about it into the dead of night. He wishes he had a shot of vodka to bring him hopefully dreamless sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

Zach doesn’t feel any different when he wakes up in the morning. He breathes a sigh of relief as he rubs Tiger’s back to soothe himself. Today is just another day in the life of Big Brother superstar, Zach Rance. Nothing has changed. He’s going to hit up Tinder and hook up just like any other day of the week.

It’s that moment that Zach notices the puddle of fresh blood on his pillow.

He sits up straight in bed, running his hands across his face to search for an injury. It turns out his nose is bleeding profusely, drenching his goatee in sticky warmth. His mouth tastes metallic so he gets up and runs to the bathroom. The reflection in the mirror looks like the worst version of himself he’s ever seen. Sunken eyes, blood caked over the lower half of his face. He spits a mouthful of blood into the porcelain sink, feeling disgusted. The toilet paper roll he finds on the floor serves as tissues to clean up the mess. He uses up nearly the entire roll before noticing the bleeding isn’t stopping.

In fact, it has started pouring out of his nose in streams. Zach panics, trying to use his hands to stem the flow. He leans his head back only to feel the blood pool sickly in the back of his throat. What the fuck.

“What the fuck!” he screams at the mirror, smearing his bloody fingers across it. “FUCK! HELP, SOMEBODY HELP!” he screams. Blood seems to be leaking out of his eyes and ears as well. “What the fuck is happening to me!”

Zach jerks awake in a panic, immediately reaching to feel his nose. All traces of blood are gone, as is the puddle on his pillow from before. Zach shakily reaches down to pet Tiger, seeking any sort of comfort he can get right now. He’s convinced that was more than a dream. It felt so real. He had tasted the blood in his mouth, felt it leaking out of his eyes like tears.

So Zach does what he always does when he gets himself into trouble. He swallows his pride and calls Frankie J Grande.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like where this is going? Let me know..


	3. Bitchcraft

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this chapter.

Zach sighs as he dials Frankie’s number for the thirteenth time that day. Finally, _finally,_ Frankie picks up right when it is about to go to voicemail.

“What is it, Zach?” he asks exasperatedly. “I know you’re used to me cleaning up your messes, but I think you really did yourself in this time, _dude._ ” Zach tries not to wince at Frankie’s bitter tone. They weren’t exactly on the greatest terms lately. It’s surprising that Frankie answered at all. An irrational part of him feels smug about the fact that Frankie apparently can’t stop caring about him. Even after the ugly, dramatic disintegration of their relationship.

“You mean the n*gga thing?” Zach blurts, forgetting himself.

“Jesus fuck, Zach. I’m hanging up now,” Frankie tells him.

“Wait! Please don’t hang up. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. That isn’t what this is about.”

“What is it about then? I have better shit to do then wipe your sorry ass. You have five minutes to change my mind.”

Zach launches into a rambling explanation of the previous night’s events. By now he’s sure it has something to do with that crazy Elissa girl on Twitter. Her threat coincided suspiciously with the robbery of his button and the subsequent “nightmare” that seemed too realistic to be entirely fake.

Silence reigns over the line as soon as he finishes his story. He thinks Frankie has hung up but then-

“Fuck, this is some American Horror Story kind of shit,” Frankie says in awe. Zach refrains from rolling his eyes.

“Frankie, this is serious! Not some stupid show you watch. I think my life is in danger here.”

“Shut up, Coven was iconic.”

“ _Frankie!_ ”

“Sorry, you’re right. This is serious shit. What do you want me to do though? This is one thing I have no idea how to fix.”

“Just come to Florida,” Zach begs, having lost all sense of shame at this point. He can practically hear Frankie raising his eyebrow over the phone. “Please, Frankie. I need you here.” Zach doesn’t even care how pathetic that sounds.

Frankie sighs deeply. “Alright. I’ll take the next flight out I can get. I’ll try to contact Ari’s old medium. See you in a few hours.” Click. Not even a goodbye before he hangs up. Zach supposes he deserves that, but his chest still stings with rejection regardless.

Groaning, Zach tosses his phone carelessly onto his bed and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes until he sees spots. He feels like he’s trapped in some kind of terrible campy horror film. And he’s the main character. Usually the main character survives, right?

While he waits for Frankie, Zach goes on the internet to try to do some research. First he searches for that Elissa girl’s Twitter, only to find that she’s blocked him. “Fuck!” he curses loudly, causing Tiger to jump about three feet in the air. Zach chuckles at that, momentarily forgetting his troubles as he pets his dog on the head fondly.

“What should I do, baby?” he asks Tiger. Tiger just stares at him, warm brown eyes looking as though they hold all the answers. If Tiger could talk, he would probably know what to do. Maybe they could find a spell to make dogs talk. Shit, what the fuck is he thinking? His brain feels like a scrambled egg.

 

* * *

 

Zach gets to the airport to pick Frankie up a few hours later, still dressed in ratty sweatpants and his Gator’s shirt. He realizes the shirt was a mistake as soon as he walks into the building. Hopefully he won’t be recognized by any fans (if he still has any after the past few days.) He’s in no mood to be posing for selfies at the moment.

Frankie’s red and blonde hair is easy to spot in the line of people exiting the incoming flight from New York City. Zach is forcibly reminded of their previous airport reunions, how they felt like deleted scenes from a romantic comedy. This one is different. Frankie’s eyes don’t light up when he sees Zach. The usually omnipresent grin is replaced by lips pursed into a grim line and a steely look in his eyes.

They don’t hug when Frankie approaches. They don’t even shake hands.

“You look like shit,” Frankie says by way of a greeting. His gaze seems to soften a bit as he takes in the bags under Zach’s eyes and his less-than-artfully disheveled hair. “You didn’t even do your hair,” Frankie muses, looking like he wants to run his hands through it.

“I know. It must be serious, right?” Zach attempts to joke halfheartedly. Frankie’s mouth twitches into a little smile despite Zach’s lackluster delivery.

“Right. We have an appointment with Ari’s medium at 4. Are you ready?”

Zach shrugs, grabbing Frankie’s ridiculously heavy bag and heaving it onto his shoulders despite Frankie’s protests. They exit the airport without getting a single request for a selfie from fans. Zach supposes it’s because they don’t really look like themselves. They haven’t been _them_ for a while now.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think. Should I continue this?


	4. Sacrifice Ice Baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Creepy stuff this chapter.

Frankie forces Zach to go home and change his clothes before they meet with the medium. “She’s one of the most sought-after psychics in the country, Zach,” he explains as he raids Zach’s closet for his nicest clothes. Admittedly, there aren’t many of them.

“I don’t give a shit,” Zach gripes before pulling on the dark red button-up Frankie hands him. “Who the fuck is she? Who cares. She’s a nobody to most of the world.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” Frankie mutters, throwing Zach a pair of dark wash jeans so violently that they hit him in the face. It’s over, Zach can’t help but think. Frankie actually _hates_ him. It’s one thing for his fans to start hating him. That same emotion coming from Frankie is a totally different story.

 

* * *

 

They show up at the medium’s house five minutes early, as per Frankie’s request. Apparently the woman is _anal_. Something which Zach knows absolutely nothing about.

“Greetings, fellow travelers,” she sings. Her hair is long, blonde, and curly, complete with a flower crown of daisies per cheddelicately on her head. She’s basically the last thing Zach had been expecting. “My name is Danica. A mermaid in my past life, turned medium in this one. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” She gives a small half bow which Frankie returns earnestly. Zach does a stiff little bow; from Frankie’s warning glance, he knows he’s already giving off the impression of being a dick. Great.

“I’m Ariana’s brother, Frankie. Very pleased to make your acquaintance. And this here is my, um, _friend,_ Zach.” Zach notices the way Frankie says the word friend, like it’s something poisonous. He nods his head curtly and hopes that this Danica lady won’t overcharge him for his rudeness. Not like it’s his money. Zach has jack shit for money these days. He spent the last of his savings buying vodka for Logan’s last party.

Money well spent, Zach thinks grimly, thinking of the crowd of swimming faces that ended up consuming the majority of his alcohol. Faces that he’ll probably never see again.

Danica leads them into a lavishly decorated room, complete with what looks like an elaborate altar at the center that features a real human skull and a melted bottle for incense. The stale smell is already starting to tickle at Zach’s nose.

They sit on the side opposite Danica, with the creepy ass altar in between them.

“Show me your hand,” Danica says gently, holding her own out. Zach reluctantly gives over his hand. This is complete and utter bullshit. Why is Frankie paying for such complete and utter bullshit?

Because he still loves him. That’s why.

“I just need to absorb some energy from your body to be able to understand the phenomenon that you’re currently experiencing,” she tells Zach. She rubs their hands together with some salve that smells like pine trees. Zach wrinkles his nose.

Danica sets up three candles on her altar and lights them one by one. She rekindles the incense, softly cooing what Zach assumes to be spells and mantras.

Danica suddenly looks up, her eyes looking less than human. Zach is tempted to flee from that heavily perfumed room right then and there.

“It’s becoming apparent… something supernatural is afoot. Zach, if you’ll just give me a few minutes with my tarot cards and a moment to peer into my crystal ball, I’ll be able to tell what sort of entity we are dealing with.” Zach wants to call the whole thing off but a sharp look from Frankie stops him before he can even begin to rant. Funny how Frankie still has that calming power over him even after all this time.

Danica slowly deals out her cards,while Frankie (and Zach, albeit reluctantly) watch with rapt attention. The first card she draws is the lovers. Zach chances a glance at Frankie when she pulls the card, only to find the other man staring back at him. He quickly looks away, an embarrassed blush coloring his cheeks

The second is the king of wands. The third card she draws is the high priestess.

The last card Danica draws, she lays upon the altar. The card reads: death.

“Zach. You have to be strong when you listen to what I’m about to tell you,” Danica warns, sing-song pitch seemingly eons away. “In the past, you have had a lover who would protect you from such evils. This person would go to the ends of the earth for you. They still would .”

Zach looks carefully down at his lap, refusing to react for the time being. The last thing he wants to do is see the look he can already picture on Frankie’s face.

“Secondly,” Danica continues, “you seem to have built yourself a throne on the sacrifice of many. A false throne where others hold you in high regard when deep down, you know you don’t deserve to be treated like a king.”

“Thirdly, the high priestess appears. She may come in many forms. As a devil, an angel, a beggar, a simple girl or boy, anyone. She seeks to punish you for your misdeeds. To dethrone you from your false nobility.”

“Lastly, the card I pulled, as you both witnessed, was death. This particular high priestess does not mean well. She is not an angel or a fairy. My best guess at this point is a witch or a demon,” Danica says, looking at their faces to gauge their reactions. Zach can’t feel anything. His entire body feels numb.

“She desires your death,” Danica finishes. “To determine exactly what we are dealing with here, I must peer into my crystal ball.” Danica stares into the ball as if it holds depths unbeknownst to man. Her eyes seem to probe into its center.

Suddenly, her beautiful face contorts into a mask of ugliness and pain. She shrieks loud enough to make both Zach and Frankie jolt out of their seats.

“What do you want,” she says, voice oddly low and cold. “What do you want, Zach Rance? Do you want the whole world to fall at your feet, to service you as their god? You are no god. You are a man. And I will prove it to you. I WILL DRAG YOU TO HELL.”

Zach is so stunned he can do nothing but sit there in silence, staring dumbly at Danica’s twisted form. She seems to come back to herself a moment later. The familiar serene expression returns to her face, although it is wracked with worry.

She turns to them slowly, with the air of sharing an unknown death with someone’s family.

“I’m afraid to inform you that Zach has been cursed,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. “The witch who cursed him has given him three days to live and be tormented by her loyal legion of demons. And then, on the third day, she will drag you to hell.” Danica looks straight into Zach’s eyes as she utters the last sentence. Zach feels like her blue eyes are pouring ice directly into his soul.

“She will stop at nothing,” Danica continues urgently. “She sees that you have taken a throne that does not belong to you. She will stop at nothing!” Her eyes are bulging, lips quivering with the sincerity of her message. Zach is speechless. He feels like he won’t ever move again. Like he might die here.

“Thank you, Danica,” Frankie says, perhaps sensing Zach’s inability to speak at the moment. “But what can we do? There has to be something.”

“A blood sacrifice is the only thing that might be successful,” she says mournfully. “I wish you luck on your journey.

Frankie and a thoroughly shaken Zach wish Danica well, bowing as they leave. Zach struggles to catch up to Frankie, who is all but running to the car.

“What the fuck, Frankie. WHAT THE FUCK. What am I supposed to do?” Zach yells ina panic. He feels like every piece of sanity he’s ever known has left him. This must be survival mode, he thinks vaguely. Survival of the fittest.

“We find a blood sacrifice,” Frankie says swiftly, seamlessly assuming the role of driver for the night. “Any bright ideas?”

“Maybe a few,” Zach says darkly. Anyone who’d ever crossed him might not know it yet, but they have another thing coming. 


	5. Sir Psycho Sexy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: smut, blood, knife play, erotic asphyxiation if you squint... I think that's it.

“Think, Zach, think,” Frankie instructs from his resting place on his hotel bed. “Whose blood can you spill for the sacrifice without feeling guilty about it for the rest of your life?”

Zach groans, burying his head in his hands. He and Frankie have spent the last two hours brainstorming about who would be the best sacrifice to make in the name of Zach’s continued, demon-free existence. Zach’s first instinct was to go with the Shitmen, but he can’t fathom doing that to either of their families after meeting them. Frankie suggested they give it to a stranger but Zach can’t justify relying on fate to make the decision for him.

It’s a funny thing, having a conscience.

“What about Michael?” Zach proposes. He hates the way Frankie still freezes at the mention of his name, like a little piece of the hurt Michael caused with always follow him. Zach hasn’t had the courage to ask exactly what went down between them.

“Maybe…I’ll think about it,” Frankie says. “I’m not God though. Who am I to decide who lives and who dies?”

“We are far from gods,” Zach agrees. “It’s weird how this witch chick is punishing me for thinking I’m a god when having this curse basically turns me into one.”

“Maybe it’s all a test. A test of your moral standing.” The two men burst into laughter at that. The very idea is ridiculous.

Zach sighs, the sound of it filling Frankie’s hotel room like fog. “It’s two in the morning. We’ve been at this for hours. Maybe we should just call it a night.”

“Yeah, okay,” Frankie caves, sauntering his way to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

When Frankie came to Florida to help Zach he insisted on getting his own hotel room so he wouldn’t have to stay with Zach’s family. It was out of respect. Zach understood that.

Zach also understood that this was a prime opportunity to spend some time away from his family. He had begged and pleaded with Frankie until the other man agreed to let him stay at his hotel as long as he slept on the floor. As far as Zach is concerned, it’s a small price to pay for his temporary freedom.

Zach stares up blankly as Frankie performs his nightly routine, mapping out made up constellations on the ceiling. It’s weird how easy it was for him and Frankie to slip into a different mode of life. Like all the supernatural stuff they nay formerly sayed suddenly incorporated itself into an inescapable part of reality. Maybe they’re special, he reasons. Any normal person would have just thought they were going crazy and ran in the opposite direction.

Darkness seems to consume them when Frankie shuts off the light and collapses on his hotel bed some fifteen minutes later. Zach voices his earlier thought to Frankie, who laughs when he’s finished. For once Zach can’t detect a hint of bitterness or condescension. Just Frankie’s unique, contagious, ridiculous laugh. Zach can’t help the smile that pulls at the corner of his mouth. He’s glad the lights are off.

“We are special, aren’t we?” Frankie asks no one in particular.

“Yeah,” Zach breathes. He wonders if Frankie can feel it too. The tension in the room is palpable. The situation is hardly intimate but it’s the closest they’ve been to each other in quite some time. Zach’s whole body suddenly itches to be on that mattress with Frankie, stroking his back to help him fall asleep like he used to.

The silence stretches on for a while. Zach’s a little afraid to go to sleep. He’s concentrated on Frankie’s breathing, the slight unsteadiness of it suggesting that he is also lying awake.

“Frankie? Why did you come to Florida?” Zach asks suddenly, words spilling out of his mouth without his permission.

A heavy sigh comes from the bed. “Really, Zach? You practically begged me to come! I believe your exact words were ‘please Frankie, I need you here,’” Frankie scoffs, finishing the last part off in a mocking tone of voice.

Zach wishes Frankie didn’t have the ability to hurt him so much with a few well-chosen words. “Why would you help me if you hate me?” he whispers, hating how pathetic his voice sounds. “Just let this witch take me to hell. You obviously think I deserve it.”

Tears slip out of the corners of Zach’s eyes but he doesn’t bother wiping them away. This is all too much. Frankie’s bitterness, the falling out with his fanbase, and his impending mortality lurk like dark shadows in the back of his mind.

“…Zach, come here,” Frankie says, sounding sad. Zach doesn’t hesitate. He picks himself off the unforgiving floor and lies next to Frankie on the bed, careful not to let their bodies touch. Frankie closes the distance between them immediately, cradling the back of Zach’s head as he pulls him into an embrace. “I could never hate you. I want to, but I can’t,” he admits as he strokes Zach’s hair. “I don’t want to lose you, even though sometimes it seems like I already have. I can’t lose you, I can’t.”

They drift off to sleep a few moments later, Zach relishing in every touch Frankie bestows upon him. He falls asleep feeling safer than he has in a long time.

 

* * *

 

“Zach, wake up!” Zach blinks his eyes groggily, registering the fact that Frankie is leading him by the hand to the center of the room. Three strategically placed candles cast a dim light. They illuminate a large pentagram drawn on the floor in what looks like charcoal. Frankie pushes him roughly onto the ground, Zach’s body landing directly in the center of it. He looks down at Zach with a predatory look in his eyes, pinning Zach’s body down with his weight. Zach groans as he feels Frankie’s erection pressed unabashedly against his now quickly hardening dick. The smell of burning incense fills Zach’s nose and entices his senses.

“Frankie, what are you doing?” Zach breathes as Frankie hushes him and seals their mouths together. Their tongues brush hotly as Frankie licks forcefully into his mouth, nipping at his bottom lip and pinning Zach’s willing hands above his head. Frankie pulls away for a moment, leaving Zach short of breath, hard and wanting things he told himself he would never let himself want again.

“Breaking the curse,” Frankie says simply, though he doesn’t explain. Zach feels himself come undone under Frankie as he strips them both naked. He strokes Zach’s cock leisurely, spreading the beading precum up and down his shaft.

“Fuck yes,” Zach moans, thrusting up into Frankie’s touch. Frankie sucks and bites at his earlobe, causing Zach to rise and squirm underneath him. Completely lost in pleasure, Zach hears unexpected words tumble from his own traitorous mouth. “Fuck me Frankie, please. I need you,” he begs, feeling blood rush to his cheeks as his cock throbs in Frankie’s hand at the admission. Frankie growls and responds by tying Zach’s hands above his head with what feels like a length of rope.

“Be a good little boy and I’ll give you exactly what you want,” Frankie promises. Zach tries to wait patiently as he sees Frankie reach to the side. He’s expected a bottle of lube so a shock jolts through his body when he sees Frankie’s come back into the candle light with a knife held between his teeth.

“W-what is that,” Zach stutters, alarmed at the way his cock seems to get harder at the sight. Frankie’s face looks even sharper and more beautiful bathed in candlelight. He seizes Zach’s throat and squeezes, knocking the breath out of him for a moment. Zach’s hips buck up at the sensation. He gasps as Frankie takes the knife and drags it slowly against the soft skin of his throat. Tiny droplets of blood ooze out of the cut and Frankie licks and sucks at it immediately afterward, following up this treatment with blowing a breath of air over Zach’s spit slick skin.

“You like this, don’t you Zach?” Frankie teases as he drags the knife lightly over Zach’s thighs, mouth hovering tantalizingly over his throbbing cock.

“Fuck, Frankie, I knew you were kinky but not this kinky,” Zach says, struggling against the bonds and reveling in the burn of the rope on his wrists.

“Answer the question,” Frankie licks the head of his cock teasingly with the promise of more just out his reach.

“Yes, fuck, I love it,” Zach groans as Frankie immediately takes him into his mouth and presses the knife into his thigh simultaneously. Zach can feel blood dripping down his leg now as Frankie bobs his head up and down, swirling his tongue expertly around the leaking head.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” Frankie tells him after he pulls off with a wet pop. Zach nods, feeling insane with desperation. Frankie reaches for a bottle and Zach’s eyes fall closed with pleasure as he hears Frankie slick up his fingers. He opens hazy eyes to see that Frankie’s fingers are red with what looks like blood.

“Is that my blood?” he gasps. Frankie is already pushing the first finger into him, seeking out his prostate and finding it quickly. Zach moans at the sensation, forgetting about how fucked up this is turning out to be.

“Yes, baby,” Frankie coos, thrusting his finger in and out, adding a second before Zach is entirely ready for it. “So good for me.” He pours more blood over his fingers and inserts a third finger. Zach cries out, relishing in the pain. He fucks himself back on Frankie’s fingers, his cock still hard against his stomach.

“Fuck me, I’m ready,” he moans. Frankie replaces his fingers with his cock, pushing into Zach with one smooth thrust. Frankie stills for a moment before he starts fucking into Zach steadily, Zach’s legs curling around Frankie’s back to pull him in deeper. “Oh god, Frankie,” he gasps as Frankie slams into his prostate.

Zach can feel himself starting to get close, the pain and pleasure overwhelming him. Frankie is biting his shoulder and sucking at the cut on his neck as he slams violently into Zach. Over Frankie’s shoulder, Zach barely registers the image of someone watching them. A dark figure with long dark hair that looks almost like an apparition. Zach can see her lips pull into an evil smirk.

“Fuck!,” Zach screams as Frankie hits his prostate again, the dark figure torn out of his focus. “Fuck Frankie, I’m gonna cum.” Frankie moans into his neck as his thrusts become more erratic. He tugs on Zach’s cock a few times and Zach loses himself in the feeling of his orgasm, dick pulsing as he cums hard between him. Frankie thrusts a few more times before groaning gutturally and filling Zach’s ass with his cum.

Zach looks over Frankie’s shoulder as he tries to catch his breath. The dark figure is back, smiling wider than ever. “I WILL DRAG YOU TO HELL!” she screams. Zach feels hot flames start to lick up his sides, consuming his body.

“Frankie! Fuck, help! FRANKIE!” he screams. Frankie’s face is twisted in horror as Zach feels his body pulled irresistibly downwards. The flames are burning him alive; he can smell the rancid scent of his own cooking flesh in the air.

“No!” Frankie sobs, trying in vain to claw at Zach’s hand which is just out of his reach. “I love you! I can’t lose you!” Frankie’s voice is becoming farther and farther away. And yet closer all at once? It sounds like he’s shouting in Zach’s ear now. Zach is confused. Isn’t he dying?

“ZACH! ZACH, wake up!” Zach jerks awake in Frankie’s hotel bed, his body drenched in a cold sweat. He looks up at Frankie in disbelief.

“What the fuck?” he asks, hardly daring to believe this is real.

“You were thrashing around in your sleep!” Frankie looks concerned, then amused. “And you have a boner. Care to explain?”

Zach does his best to make his boner go down as he gives Frankie the best description of his “dream” that he can manage. Frankie looks at him closely. “Let’s go to the bathroom for a second. I want to check something.”

In the bathroom Frankie inspects Zach’s body carefully. He doesn’t have to though; Zach can see for himself the thumb-shaped bruises on his hips and the new cut across his neck. The cuts on his thighs aren’t as bad as he was expecting, but Frankie’s face is a mask of worry.

“This is worse than I thought, Zach,” he says. “We have to do something, like NOW. Time is running out.”

“Why did I have that dream though?” Zach wonders, “Is this the witch’s version of fucking with me or what? Fuck, she must have been a Zank.”

Frankie laughs humorlessly and shakes his head. “I don’t know Zach. It might mean something. We’ll figure it out together.”

Together, Zach thinks. Maybe that’s what this is all about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think, this is my favorite chapter so far. <3


	6. Make Me Numb Inside

Zach heaves out a frustrated breathe as Frankie paces the hotel room, attempting to make yet another call to Ari’s old medium, Danica. They’ve been trying to reach her for the past hour to no avail. Frankie insists that she must be swamped with work. Personally, Zach has other ideas. She might not want to associate herself with a hopeless case like him. Because that’s what it seems like right now. That this whole endeavor is just serving to prolong the inevitable. Maybe hell won’t be as bad as it sounds? Oh who the fuck is he kidding. He’s terrified and living on a prayer that she will answer the phone soon.

“Oh my god, Danica!” Frankie exclaims from somewhere to his left. Zach finally unclenches his fist for the first time all day. Thank. God.

“Yeah, we’re having some, uh, trouble you might say,” Frankie explains with the phone wedged between his shoulder and his ear while simultaneously perfecting his makeup. Zach barely refrains from rolling his eyes, although he can’t stop the overwhelming fondness bubbling in his chest. Only Frankie.

“Your sister? Okay. Can we meet her today?” Frankie’s eyes meet Zach’s in the mirror while he waits for an answer. The electricity is still there even through the superfluous layer of glass. “Alright, thanks my love. I’ll let you know how it goes.” Frankie finally hangs up, sounding relieved. Zach looks at him questioningly, trying to pour all of his emotion into the glace.

“So,” Frankie begins “Danica is actually in NYC right now. But she has a sister named Atlanta who can help us. She said something about a token. Maybe something of yours that the witch might have taken?”

“MY BUTTON!” Zach says instantly, way too loud. Frankie winces but smiles regardless.

“Good, I’m glad you know. We’re going to go meet Atlanta in an hour so she can perform a tracking spell on the button. Apparently if we give it to someone else, the curse will transfer to them!” Frankie finishes triumphantly. “It’s the only way to break the spell aside from a blood sacrifice.” He pauses, a mischievous smirk gracing his lips. “Apparently super kinky sex won’t break the curse. Sorry Zach.”

Zach’s cheeks burn. He rubs his forehead with the back of his hand self-consciously. “God, shut up Frankie. I told you that in confidence, not so you could throw it in my face every two seconds!”

Frankie shrugs, looking devious as ever with a feaux innocent expression. “Should we have breakfast before we go?”

“Hell yes,” Zach agrees, “I’m hungry as fuck.”

Frankie decides to scramble some eggs on the hotel’s mini stove (god, fucking rich people hotels) and pours some orange juice and champagne for Zach in an inexplicably fancy glass. “We could both use a drink at this point,” he reasons. Zach just grins at him.

It isn’t even five minutes later that Zach drops his glass onto the ridiculously plush carpet.

“Zach!” Frankie admonishes, rushing to get a paper towel to clean up the spill. Zach shrugs. There is still about an inch of mimosa in his glass so he downs it in one swig. No sooner than he’s swallowed, Zach feels a strange sensation in his throat. And not a good strange, like a dick in there. A bad strange. Definitely a bad strange.

He starts coughing, fastening his hands around his neck. A dull pain is blossoming in his throat that is impossible to ignore. “FRANKIE!” he chokes out in desperation. Frankie whips around as quick as lightening, moving to give Zach the Heimlich maneuver.

After a few extremely painful moments, Zach coughs something up that rockets violently across the room. Frankie’s forehead crinkles in confusion as he releases Zach and crosses the room to investigate. Zach can feel a sick, irony warmth spreading throughout his mouth and a sharp pain of which he cannot decipher the origin.

“What the fuck,” Frankie says, sounding disturbed.

“What is it?” Zach gets out, almost choking on a mouthful of his own blood. Because he’s sure that’s what it is now. He’s become uncomfortably knowledgeable about the taste of blood since his creepily realistic nightmares began.

Frankie steps up to Zach, holding a bloody piece of glass and a stony expression. Zach gasps. His eyes automatically flit to his glass which is missing a huge chunk out of it. He could have sworn that it was  not like that when he took a drink from it moments ago.

“Fuck,” Zach breathes. This is no joke. He could have swallowed that piece of glass and died right on the spot.

“This is not cool Zach. You could have died!” Frankie sounds panicked, like all of this is suddenly becoming way too real for him. “I used to have respect for that witch bitch, but this is way too far! What the fuck!” he screams.

“Wait, you used to _like_ her?” Zach asks, dumbfounded. Frankie sighs, seeming to deflate as he does so.

“I have to admit… I was still really angry at you for everything. I did want you to get your just desserts. But this is too much. You can’t die. You can’t! I won’t let it happen,” Frankie says decisively, hands clenching into quaking fists. “She’s fucked with the wrong bitches.”

Zach can’t help but laugh and let the words floating around in his head out his mouth. “You’re so cute. You’re so cute,” he repeats. There’s really nothing else to say at the moment. Frankie is actually just adorable as fuck. Especially when he's defending Zach so passionately. 

 

* * *

 

An hour later finds Frankie and Zach traipsing up some rickety steps to an ancient house that is more reminiscent of a mini-castle. Atlanta is a beautifully curvy woman with luxurious mahogany locks and a playful expression in her hazel eyes. Zach isn’t going to lie, he would totally hit it.

“I understand that my dear sister Danica sent you my way?” she asks in a misty voice. Frankie  nods.

“Yes. I’m Frankie Grande and this is Zach Rance. Danica said you can do a tracking spell?”

“Oh, yes,” she says. She turns around and bends over her altar, caressing her crystal ball for a few moments. “It looks as though this might be the best route to break the curse. Do you have the shirt in question?”

Zach reaches into Frankie’s purse (satchel, technically) and pulls out his polo from that fateful night. Atlanta snorts as soon as she sees it and Frankie’s eyes illuminate in delight at their shared fashion sense.

“This will be perfect,” Atlanta declares, placing the shirt in the middle of her altar. “Now sit down!” she orders, earrings swinging madly. Zach and Frankie hasten to obey.

“Oh cursed object, cast your light upon your brother. Listen to your mother earth. Take your price for what it’s worth!” she croons, stoking a burning chalice of herbs. The image of a skull arises from the smoke.  Zach can feel Frankie give off a nervous twitch; the desire for him to take a picture of this must be overwhelming.

“Show me your resting place!” Atlanta bellows, looking almost possessed by Zach’s standards. “Show the cursed one his redeeming grace!”  With those words, the smoke shapes itself into something loosely resembling a map. Atlanta takes a spare piece of parchment she had waiting and scribbles it down frantically. Zach can only watch in awe. He feels Frankie next to him, vibrating with nervous energy.

‘It looks like your button resides in the United Kingdom,” Atlanta says, misty tone finally resurfacing. Zach blanches.

“The UK? How the fuck are we supposed to get there?”

“With money, duh,” Frankie says, rolling his eyes. He pays Atlanta and thanks her, making sure to make a photocopy of her somewhat crudely drawn map. Zach can’t help his exasperation.

“Frankie. This is fucking dumb! I’m probably going to choke on glass or some other fucking thing before even get to the button. This witch is out for blood.”

He looks to Frankie desperately, waiting for a consolation that he knows won’t come.

“It’s our only choice,” Frankie says, a steely look in his eyes. “Don’t worry Zach. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

‘Just like in the game’, Zach can’t help but think. Frankie had betrayed  him in the Big Brother house at the last minute. He hopes he’s not a fool for believing that Frankie truly means it when he says he will save him this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment:? or is this story all for naught?


	7. Just Like Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> smut.

It starts on the plane.

Zach orders a Bloody Mary. It’s only later that he can fully appreciate the irony.

He thanks the hot blonde stewardess with a nod and a glance that maybe lingers just a little too long. Frankie is seated next to him, sipping some sort of pink concoction that Zach has no desire to know its ingredients let alone its taste.

He takes a big gulp of his Bloody Mary only to instantly spit it out in disgust, all over the back of the seat in front of him. Frankie is appalled.

“Zach!” he hisses angrily, “this is first class, not coach! You have to have some manners.” He begins wiping at the seat with a napkin while Zach struggles to process what is going on. His drink had tasted…wrong. Very wrong. If he’s not mistaken…it tasted and had the texture of blood.

He takes another cautious sip, wincing at the warm and slightly thickened feel. Definitely blood. He’s not sure how the stewardess accomplished making his drink taste like this, but he’s not above complaining to the manager.

“It’s not my fault, Frankie!” Zach insists. “Just try this drink, it’s horrible. It almost tastes like blood don’t you think?” Frankie gives him a strange look but moves to take a tiny sip nonetheless. His expression doesn’t change, leaving Zach more confused than ever.

“It tastes fine, good even,” Frankie declares. “What are you talking about?”

“It tastes like blood!” Zach says frantically, finding himself in a sudden panic. He wildly grabs Frankie’s glass out of his hand and takes a drink only to experience the same sickening texture and taste sliding across his tongue. He swallows.

“Fuck, it’s blood! I’m going to throw up,” Zach chokes out. It feels like the plane walls are closing in on him; he wonders if the witch wants him dead bad enough to orchestrate the crash of this plane. He starts hyperventilating. The only thing keeping him grounded is Frankie’s hand drawing lazy shapes onto his back.

“it’s going to be okay,” Frankie says, placing a kiss on Zach’s shoulder blade. “It’s probably just a side effect of the curse. No big deal. We’ll be in England soon, we’ll find the button, and we’ll give it to some oblivious motherfucker. We got this.”

Zach tries to believe Frankie’s words but he can’t help the sense of hopelessness blooming like a rotten bouquet in his chest.

“We only have one more day after this,” Zach says miserably, attempting to bury his face into Frankie’s shoulder. Frankie lets him and tugs on his hair fondly.

“We can do this, Zach. We’re team Zankie. There’s nothing we can’t do about it now, though.”

Something about this sentence pisses Zach off so much he can hardly see straight. His hands clench into fists.

“That’s exactly what you said in the Big Brother house. Team Zankie for life. But it didn’t take very long for that plan to go out the window, now did it?” Zach says bitterly. He thought he was over this but apparently he was wrong.

Frankie gives him a look. “That was a fucking game. This isn’t. I love you, Zach Rance. You know that.”

Zach clings to his arm, feeling overwhelmed and vulnerable. “I’m scared, Frankie,” he whispers, the words spilling out like oil in the Atlantic.

“It’ll be okay baby. Now sleep,” Frankie commands as he caresses Zach’s hair. Zach’s eyes start to droop as soon as the words fall from Frankie’s mouth. There’s nothing he can do now but wait.

-

They hack roughly at the body before them, beating senselessly at Zach’s lifeless form.

Zach tries to scream. “What the fuck! I’m still alive!,”  but somehow he can’t make a sound. The pain is unbearable, every slice of the knife feeling like a surgery sans anesthetic.

“His skin is rather tough,” one girl comments as she cuts ruthlessly at his abdomen. Blood sprays everywhere, but neither woman seems to care. “Please, stop! PLEASE!” Zach tries to scream. It never leaves his mouth.

One of the nurses looks him dead in the eyes. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up,” she commands as she takes a knife to Zach0’s throat.

“I’ll remove his brain, you can get the next one,” the first girl says. She leisurely moves her knife up to Zach’s head, creating an almost perfect incision. “This will be a delicacy for the king to enjoy,” she decides as she begins to dig out his brain categorically. It’s squishy and pink, basically oozing out of his skull. It unfolds like a skein of yarn, slowly but surely.

“His liver,” the girl cackles, voice reminiscent of a young Maleficent. “We should serve it with a side of Hitler’s stomach lining, don’t you think?

“That sounds decadent. In fact, it may be too rich of a dish. We can’t just use Hitler’s ingredients willy nilly.”

“Yes, but it would accent the dish perfectly!” the girl insists. The nametag on her apron reads “Katie.”

“You’re right,” the other girl decides, “the king of hell deserves only the best cuisine. I will try  my best to cook it perfectly.” She rolls up her sleeves, a determined look gracing her delicate features.

“Ah, Zach Rance,” Katie sighs, looking positively devious. “The king will so enjoy your liver. So delicious.” She reaches out towards the meat, bringing a small piece of it towards her lips. She moans as it enters her mouth. “So yummy, seasoned with sin and diet racism,” she comments as she licks her lips. The other girl fires up the stove, preparing the food as an iron chef would.

“For presentation, I will adorn it with a piece of his heart,” the other girl decides. “So black, so corrupted. His majesty will relish in the flavor of unrequited love.” They laugh together as they prepare the delicacy, thinking only of the king, never of the man whose body would feed him.

-

Zach jerks awake as they are about to land, more grateful than ever to have his form intact.  He’s about to explain his dream to Frankie but the peaceful look on his face persuades him to keep his mouth shut for once.

They arrive to Heathrow Airport  a few minutes later. In the meantime, Zach has discovered that everything, including the shitty in-flight lunch, tastes like blood. He had choked down his turkey sandwich, only because he knew he must operate at full capacity. The necessary measures to search for the button. He has a feeling that something else fucked up might happen. He definitely needs to have his wits about him.

They grab their suitcases from the baggage claim without much incident. Surprisingly, one fan recognizes the two of them as they sit, patiently waiting for their bags to pass by. It’s a girl who can’t be more than fifteen.

“You guys changed my life,” she gushes as she snaps a selfie with Frankie who pulls his characteristic kissy face. Then she gets a picture of her with them together. Zach tries his best to make his smile look genuine. If only people knew what was going on he would at least get a pass for the day.

“Zankie was amazing,” the girl exclaims, far too excited. “It helped me come out. I was afraid to say that I liked girls before, but you guys gave me courage. Thank you.”

She walks away, blonde ponytail swinging proudly. Maybe it was all worth it, Zach thinks. If he made one person’s life better than all the strife he’d experienced was worth every second.

“Well, moving on,” Frankie says, suddenly businesslike.

Zach once thought that he and Frankie might visit Europe together, but never under circumstances such as these. Frankie strolls purposely through the narrow streets, barely giving Zach enough time to keep up with him. He locates their hotel swiftly and they drag their suitcases up the staircase together.

“You’d think they’d have enough money to put in an elevator,” Zach gripes. “Of course our room has to be on the sixth floor.

“They have one, it’s just of order,” Frankie explains. “Besides, you could use the exercise.”

They are about halfway up the stairs when Zach hears a blood-curdling screech.

“What the fuck was that?!” he asks, whipping his head around to locate the source of the noise.

“What was what?” Frankie wonders confusedly. Zach’s heart simultaneously sinks and turns to ice as he hears another shout, this one even more chilling than the last.

“Did you not hear that scream?”

Frankie shakes his head, looking disturbed. “It’s getting worse, Zach. It’s the curse, I’m sure of it. We have to get up to the room and start searching for that fucking button first thing tomorrow.”

The rest of the way up the stairs goes quicker after that. Zach doesn’t hear any more screams, but the dull taste of stale blood in his mouth ensures that his thoughts never stray far from the curse.

Even though Frankie had gotten the earliest possible flight, it was still a nine hour trip to London. That, along with the five hour time difference, ensured that Zach and Frankie barely had enough time to make it to their hotel by night time. They agree that it probably wouldn’t be the best idea to go searching for the button in the dark, considering the strangeness of the city. Zach is jetlagged as fuck; he’s honestly surprised he’s managed to stay awake this long.

Zach feels wide awake when he notices there is only one king sized bed in their room rather than two queens. He starts going crazy with the implications before realizing that this means he’ll be reduced to sleeping on the floor again.

He’s just setting up a little sleeping area for himself when Frankie comes out of the bathroom, fresh from the shower.

“Zach?” he asks cautiously.  Zach turns around slowly and tries not to stare; Frankie is clad only in underwear. The red has almost completely washed out of his hair leaving a stark blonde color. In the low lighting, he looks like an angel. Which isn’t too far from reality.

“What’s up,” Zach asks lamely. Frankie is studying his face carefully, seeming to look directly into his soul. Zach nearly flinches under the scrutiny.

“I’m scared,” Frankie whispers. He takes Zach’s hand in his own, pulling him to a standing position. “I need you, Zach. I need you one more time, just in case…”

“We don’t break the curse,” Zach breathes. He’s known this possibility has existed for a while, but its different hearing the words come out of Frankie’s mouth when he’s usually so unflinchingly optimistic. Now in the quiet of their room, the possibility seems more like a reality than ever. “I need you too, Frankie. So bad. Please.”

Frankie pulls him in close, rubbing softly at Zach’s ear. Zach’s eyes fall closed as he relishes in the familiar touch. His eyes are still closed when Frankie pulls him in for a kiss.

It’s nothing like their previous kisses, all frantic with need. It’s slow and leisurely. Frankie holds his face and kisses him softly like they have all the time in the world. “Fuck,” Zach moans into his mouth, his cock already hardening in his boxers. He’s so used to having it rough with Frankie; this newfound intimacy is turning him on way more than he ever thought it would.

“You taste like blood,” Frankie says incredulously when he pulls back for air.

“..Wait, kiss me again,” Zach says. Frankie does. For once Zach doesn’t taste what he suspects to be his own blood. He just tastes Frankie.

Frankie strokes his tongue across Zach’s, delicate as he is persuasive.

“Take off your shirt,” he whispers. Zach obeys, stripping himself of his white t-shirt as well as his pants. Frankie takes complete advantage, licking and kissing at Zach’s abs. “I want to taste your dick,” he breathes as he moves downwards. Zach groans, pooling his pants around his ankles.

Frankie’s hot tongue licks at him, burning pleasure like the friendliest of flames.

Zach wonders if this is what hell is like. Being as close as you can to someone but far away. Wanting someone so bad that you can never let yourself have. Pleasure so intense it feels like unbearable pain.  Forces beyond your control tearing you forcefully away from what you love.

Zach realizes he no longer has any fear of hell. And that’s because he’s lived it.

Frankie’s sinful tongue licks expertly up the shaft of Zach’s dick, curling around the head. “I’m going to cum if you keep that up,” Zach huffs out, almost too late. A blurt of precum has blurted out on Frankie’s tongue. He gives a satisfied smile.

“Are you ready for my fingers?” Frankie questions, stroking his thighs gently. Zach nods, steeling himself for the pain. Frankie coats his fingers in a generous amount of lube, slowly working them into Zach’s ass. “It’s been so long,”Frankie says, awed, not even making a question out of it. “Have you never touched yourself down here, Zach?”y

“Shit,” Zach curses, overwhelmed by sensation. “Never. I just want you to do it. Just you, Frankie.” Frankie chuckles, thrusting his index finger in and out, torturously slow. “Oh baby, you’re so repressed. You want my cock, don’t you?”

“Yes, please,” Zach moans as Frankie inserts a second figure. He’s being insanely gentle, stroking Zach’s insides with a finesse he’s never known. They mouths mold together lazily. Zach can hardly comprehend what he’s supposed to be doing right now.

“So good, baby. So good for me,” Frankie praises, slipping a third finger into Zach’s asshole. Zach moans loudly, trying to adjust to the feeling.

“I think you’re ready for my cock, don’t you?” Frankie questions. His fingers have disappeared from Zach’s hole only to be replaced by the slick head of his cock pushing forcefully against Zach’s entrance.

“Please,” Zach pleads, doing his best to spread his legs. Neither one thought to bring condoms. It goes without saying. They’re both clean, and Zach wants nothing more to have Frankie’s cum dripping out of his ass.

Frankie gradually pushes in, careful to wait as Zach’s body adjusts. He almost goes too slow for Zach. By the time he has pushed all the way in, Zach is desperate.

“Fuck me. Fuck me,” he screams. Frankie begins thrusting into him deeply, taking the time to explore every inch of the inside of Zach’s body. He hits his prostate after a few moments, causing Zach to shake  violently on the bed.

“I’ve got you, babe,” Frankie ensures. His thrusts are precise, deep, loving. Zach can’t help the sounds that escape his mouth. For a moment he thinks he might be hearing the screams of the spirits again. Or maybe it’s just the screams leaving his own lips as Frankie fucks his ass.

“Fuck, more,” Zach pants out. Frankie works his index finger in next to his stiff dick, stroking leisurely at a sensitive spot. Zach nearly falls apart at the extra stimulation.

“I’m so close,” he moans, trying his best to fuck his ass back on Frankie’s cock and finger. Frankie’s rhythm falters as he slams mercilessly into Zach’s body. Zach groans, cock pulsing vibrantly as he shoots his load all over Frankie’s stomach. Frankie thrusts a few more times before emptying his cum into Zach’s ass. Zach lies there dazed, barely registering the sensation of Frankie’s cum leaking out of his spent asshole.

“I love you,” Zach breathes. There isn’t anything else to say at that point.

“I love you too,” Frankie assures, kissing Zach’s sweaty forehead.

Zach might not know what hell is like, but in this moment he’s sure that heaven is falling asleep in Frankie’s arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments if you please.


End file.
